


feels like a coming of age

by hellatortoise



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Self-Discovery, Slow Burn, more of a character study than anything, with romance on the side
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-26
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 15:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12510684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hellatortoise/pseuds/hellatortoise
Summary: Frederick sets his mug down with a thump. “It's not your responsibility to oversee the safety of an entire city.”But it is, it is, Lucina thinks, and aches.When Lucina's connection with Naga suddenly goes silent, she must embark on a Quest to reconnect with her spirituality. Maybe she'll rediscover Naga, and maybe she won't, but she might reconnect with her estranged father, heal her self-doubt, and fall in love along the way.





	1. Chapter 1

Years of dreaming have left Lucina with a sense for when her mind is being played with, like an ache in her bones or an old faded bruise; it doesn’t hurt until she presses it. And then she remembers: ah yes. This again.

She’s reluctant to open her eyes. What hellscape will greet her this time? A battlefield scattered with broken flags? Or maybe the flaming castle again, that was a fun one. She braces for the smell of blood, but gets forest instead: mist, and cloudy skies, and leaf mold.

The vision solidifies around her, forcing her eyes open against her will. She’s in a forest clearing, thick white ropes of fog hugging the ground and underbrush, filling up the spaces between gnarled pines. Everything is vaguely fuzzy, edged with rainbow halos, as if Lucina is seeing through a droplet of water. Sitting on the other side of the clearing, front paws folded over each other primly, is a Nagaling. Not the largest Lucina has fought. Not the smallest, either. It has a perfectly average build and a perfectly average tail and a perfectly average face that it cocks cutely to the side before uncoiling to its feet.

_ Watch closely, _ the voice of Naga whispers to Lucina. The Nagaling’s tail thrashes before its figure blurs in arcs of blue light, and suddenly there is a second one, standing right beside it. The second leaks blue smoke before dissolving.

Waking punches Lucina in the gut. Her heart beats fast and painful in her chest, and for a moment she’s convinced that she’s finally dying, before beating her panic back with a deep, controlled breath. She flexes her fingers. She can feel… the smooth inside of her sleeping bag, the thin-weave cotton of her pillowcase, a stray ticklish hair against her upper lip. She takes another deep breath. This is real. She is real.

(Before she got the hang of dreaming she would cry and thrash and breath so quick and shallow her vision blurred on waking, not knowing what was real and what wasn’t.) 

She sits up, the top of her head brushing the roof of her tent, static lifting her hair in shivery little lines. Outside is the quiet that comes only with falling snow, and she shivers as she gets dressed quickly in the greyish light. Taking down the tent and packing up her supplies she can do mostly without thinking; it’s habit now. The sun is halfway over the horizon when she finishes.

And then it’s hiking, following the trail just visible through the packed down snow of late winter, ragged inhales that sting the inside of her nose and mouth. The heavy hilt of Falchion banging against her thigh at every step. Somewhere between the burning in her lungs and ache in her sides is a visceral hatred for - she can’t say, exactly, but it’s powerful and expansive. Like she could swallow up the whole world if she glared at it hard enough. 

It doesn’t take too long to find the clearing from her vision. It’s ringed by the telltale blue-gray scorch marks left by Nagaling fire, and she can clearly see claw marks on the surrounding tree trunks. She sets down her pack and rolls her shoulders.

There - a whisper of moment in a nearby tree top. Now that she looks, she can see the blue glow of the Nagaling’s eyes.

And then something slams into her back.

She plows into the snow face first, already activating Falchion before she realizes she’s falling. The old blade sputters, taking a moment to warm up, and then blue-green light arcs from the hilt as she rolls onto her back, spearing the blue-smoke shadow of a second Nagaling. Lucina takes the full force of its weight, about as much as a large dog, before it dissolves. Her breath comes in gasps.

She’s on her feet a moment later, forcing a deep, measured breath to keep herself focused as adrenaline spikes through her system, turning her fingers tingly and her head light. Where’s the original? Another blue smoke duplicate lunges at her from the right, and she splices it from left shoulder to right hip, Falchion buzzing at the contact.

There - it prowls at the edge of the clearing, its yellow-ish face markings like a leering mask as it yowls in dual-pitch. It springs forward on lithe legs, and as it does, two other smoke shadows peel off its sides.

Lucina keeps her eyes on the original as it lunges at her, throwing up a spray of snow as she ducks to the side. One of the shadows sinks its teeth into her left shoulder and she yells - for being a paradox clone generated by time-travel duplication, it sure hurts like the real thing. She sinks Falchion in its stomach to get it to dissolve.

The original slams into her side, sending the both of them into a tussle. Lucina writhes and kicks, the Nagaling’s teeth snapping inches away from her face. The angle is too close to get a good stab, so Lucina flicks Falchion off and back on as she bucks her hips and rolls over, pins the creature with an elbow on its sternum. Falchion sputters and whines and white hot arcs of pain open on her arm where the Nagaling’s claws are gripping her. The remaining shadow hooks its claws in her back and opens its jaws around the back of her neck.

She screams as Falchion finally extends, burying it under the Nagaling’s rib cage. It screeches like nails on chalkboard, making Lucina’s brain go white, before choking on the blade of Falchion as it lances through its jaw. The weight on her back disappears.

She rolls over and flicks Falchion off. It makes a choked click-click-click before puttering out, and Lucina’s heart goes out to the battered piece of machinery. She closes her eyes to the unbroken blue of the sky overhead and lays in the snow and lets her heartbeat slow. Breathe in, breathe out. As the adrenaline drains she starts to feel the scratches on her arm and in her shoulder. Cataloguing the wounds to tell Frederick later is routine enough that it distracts her from the pain. The cold seeps under her skin. 

Lifetimes pass beyond her closed eyelids before she rolls over and sits up, each limb an iron slug. She drags herself to her feet and forces herself over to her pack, where she slips a sizeable hunting knife from the front pocket. It makes quick work of the Nagaling corpse, sliding through hide and gristle with barely a hitch. She packs up organs and bone fragments in Ziploc bags to sell later, and leaves the remains to steam in the snow.

It’s a long trek down to the one train station on the mountain, and then a long train ride down into Ylissetol, and a long subway ride to the bus station, and a long bus ride to the other side of town, where the city begins to melt into untamed gardens and overgrown lots and trees so old their roots have cracked the surrounding pavement. Frederick is waiting at the last stop, legs crossed as he flicks through a newspaper. He looks up as she disembarks, taking her pack without a word and loading it into his old Cadillac.

Lucina sets her head against the window. Rows of neat suburban houses all flying Feroxi flags blur past. If she squints, it’s all the same whites and greens of the mountain.

“Tired?” Frederick asks. His voice is low and quiet, a pleasant familiar rumble.

“Mmm.” Lucina closes her eyes. “You should call Maribelle.”

Frederick hums noncommittally to that, and Lucina is relieved he doesn’t make a big deal out of it.

“Your response times are getting better and better,” he remarks after a moment of silence. “I’m very impressed with how adept you’ve become at reading your visions.”

Lucina makes a tired half-shrug. “There’s patterns to it. The attacks have been so close together this last season I’ve figured out how to tell when they’re coming.”

“That’s quite remarkable.”

Lucina shifts uneasily. Something about the quiet pride in his voice chafes at her. “It’s my job to protect Ylissehold, so.”

“Yes,” Frederick says calmly. “And there’s no shame in recognizing that you’re amazing at it.”

Lucina turns further into her seat, scrunching up into herself. Through half-lidded eyes she watches the manor house come into view, materializing at the end of the long driveway. Swallowed up by ivy as it is, Lucina can only guess at the original shape, but it’s got traces of its old glory in the sweeping gables and blue tile rooftops. The massive front doors are half-obscured by enormous bushes of lavender - a parting gift from Aunt Lissa. 

Frederick drives around to the garage. He silently hands Lucina her backpack and disappears into the kitchen, leaving her to make the trek up to her room herself. 

She hoists her backpack higher on her back. The marble staircase leading up to her room has never looked so foreboding. Taking the first step forward is wading through molasses, through mud, through concrete. By the time she drags herself to her room the desire to collapse on the floor is so strong tears prick her eyes. Her arm and shoulder throb. 

She leans against the doorjamb of her bedroom, breathing deep and shaky. It’s completely untouched. Neat. Uninhabited. The dark curtains are drawn, casting the room in deep shadow despite the time of morning. She drops her backpack and jacket where she stands and strips on her way to the bathroom, strewing clothes wantonly over the indigo carpet. Later, later, she’ll clean up later. 

In the bathroom, she leans her head against the shower wall and doesn’t even yelp when the cold water slams into her back. She bites her tongue and waits out the pain until everywhere is numb and she’s tired, so tired. She closes her eyes so she doesn’t have to watch her blood swirling down the drain. 


	2. Chapter 2

Frederick is armed with two mugs of hot cocoa when Lucina eventually drags herself downstairs. She eyes him warily. Hot cocoa is almost always a ploy to drag her into a serious conversation. With emotions. And honesty. It’s a downright shame Frederick makes cocoa so good it should be illegal. 

Damn Frederick and his impeccable Father Skills. 

Lucina tosses a throw pillow out of the way to slide into the breakfast nook and Frederick pushes a mug across the table. She takes a long sip and sighs. Cream and cinnamon, with the faint bitter edge of coffee. Maybe Frederick’s Gift is making cocoa after all, she muses. 

Frederick sets his chin on his fist and looks hard at her, eyebrows drawn ever-so-slightly down. The deja-vu that washes over her is vaguely uncomfortable - how many times now have they had hot cocoa in the breakfast nook? A few years ago Frederick might even have smiled at her. The light streaming through the nook window highlights a patch of stubble on his chin, the deep lines around his mouth. For some reason, in this moment, he looks more tired than Lucina has ever seen him. 

“I called Maribelle.” He breaks eye contact and takes a sip of cocoa. “She should be here within the hour.” 

“Thanks.” 

Frederick takes a deep breath through his nose. Steels himself. “I think you need to take a break.” 

Ah. This again. 

Lucina takes another sip of cocoa. At the bottom of the mug there’s too much cinnamon; it stings her nose. 

“I know you're worried about me, but I  _ can't  _ take a break.” Lucina grips the mug so tight her knuckles turn white. “Not when I'm the only one standing between…” Well. It sounds silly when she says it out loud, but it doesn’t make it any less true. She can’t meet Frederick’s eyes. “Between Ylissetol and destruction.”

“And what good will you do to Ylissetol if you're barely functional from exhaustion?” Frederick takes another sip of cocoa, nonplussed. He so very rarely looks ruffled - Lucina can’t remember a time she’s ever even seen Frederick’s shirts wrinkle. Now is no exception. “Besides, summer is the perfect time to take a break, if you're worried about destruction.”

“Nagalings might not be  _ common _ during summer, but that doesn't mean they  _ don't spawn _ -”

Frederick sets his mug down with a thump. “It's not your responsibility to oversee the safety of an entire city.”

But it is, it is, Lucina thinks, and aches. 

“Besides, you need to complete a Quest soon. That's another one of Naga’s tenets, isn't it?”

Lucina tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear. “Well. I mean, yes, but.” It’s an important tradition, to be sure, but. But. “I was just thinking about doing something simple, like a charity event. I don’t want to go out of town.” 

“ _ I _ think you should do something big.” Frederick? Advocating flashiness? Maybe he hit his head while Lucina was gone. “Something befitting of your family and your Gift. What do you think about doing a tour of the major temples?” Frederick’s face softens, and Lucina remembers suddenly and uncomfortably that this man helped raise her. “Don’t you want to do something more personal than a charity event? Don’t you believe in Naga’s path for you?”

Oh Gods.

Lucina stands abruptly. “Naga’s path?” 

Her stomach is in tight achey knots. She clenches and unclenches her fists. What would  _ Frederick  _ know about Naga’s path?  She leaves the empty mug cold on the table and storms upstairs, hands shaking. Heat itches in her cheeks and neck and knuckles, anger curling tight in her chest. Her chest is tight.  


Isn’t she following Naga’s path? Isn’t she giving her all, isn't she devoting herself - the visions, the fighting - she's given every last inch of herself, hasn't she? Gods, she’s so tired. 

Lucina decides that she’s earned a nap. 

 

***

Maribelle comes by an hour or so later and cleans and bandages her back. Doesn't necessarily feel better to be all bandaged up. Hotter. And itchier. The pain killers Maribelle gives her, however, feel amazing, and with explicit approval to go back to sleep, Lucina spirals into vivid dreams. 

There’s a familiar riff in the back of her head when she switches from normal dreaming to visions, like the reprise of a song - not quite the same, but similar enough to give her shivers. The landscape around her bleeds into existence like watercolor. Like usual, other senses come to her before sight - the smells of old wood, dust, wet dirt; the sounds of creaking, birds chirping. She can taste the late autumn chill in the back of her throat. 

Muscles she didn’t know she had flex in her back and sides, and before the thought really fully forms she knows somehow she’s grown a pair of wings. Opening her eyes and looking over her shoulder reveals an azure butterfly’s wing, the scales shimmering as she flicks it back. 

When she turns around she notices what she hadn’t before - an old Goddess Temple, the braided bell rope swaying gently in a wind Lucina can’t feel. The bells chime softly. Someone has thrown the curtain back and the statuette of Naga looks coyly out at her. Its emerald eyes glitter.

Lucina barely has time to process before her wings stir without her intent and she lifts up into the air. The landscape below her starts to slip past and a second temple, indistinguishable from the first and yet somehow unfathomably different, comes into view. The world tips around her faster and faster, temples hurtling past below her.

And then she’s awake, abrupt as a punch to the gut. The sudden change from motion to stillness hits her like whiplash. Her shoulder and back are aching so much she can’t turn on her side and Lucina suddenly uneasily realizes that she might just vomit all over herself. Her heart pounds. Sweat beads on her hairline. 

She doesn’t puke, miraculously, but somehow it isn’t much of a victory. The vision leaves a sour taste in her mouth. 

It's a clear message from Naga. Looks like she’s going to have to go on Frederick’s gods-damned Quest anyway. 

 

***

 

Spring finds Lucina two weeks later in Northfort, Ylissehold’s biggest city, as Ylissetol never really recovered from the devastation of a war now 500 some odd years over. It’s uncomfortably metropolitan, all shiny tall buildings that block out the sky, but the area around The Hall of Endless Light, Ylissehold’s largest cathedral and best-known temple, is lush with willows and cherries and hydrangeas. In the temple’s moss garden, the trees are just beginning to bud. A time of new birth, Lucina muses. Not that it feels like it. The last two weeks have felt like the same drudgery of the past winter - minus, of course, fighting for her gods-damned life. 

The tall ceiling stretches far above her, cavernous and echoing. She’s brought her beads and turned off her phone and washed her hands in the holy water at the entrance, taking her time with preparation as if to postpone …. something she can’t quite put her finger on, other than a frustratingly vague foreboding. A monk is chanting some sort of prayer in the front, and his hard consonants bounce off the lacquered walls. It’s familiar in a way it has no right to be, for everything that’s changed. 

Lucina lowers her forehead to rest on her clasped hands. She's spent more time than she would have liked in this cathedral, sitting still and quiet and oh-so-nice. Week after week, faithfully praying to a Goddess she had no doubt existed - her first vision had been in this very cathedral, after all. The details are muzzy around the edges, but she still remembers how Naga’s eyes burned, how her skin refracted light like water or crystal.

The visions came like clockwork after that. It wasn’t until later that Lucina realized they were her Gift - words from the Goddess, and the ability to see the future. 

Which makes this visit that much more painful. Lucina squeezes her eyes shut, trying to feel something, hear  _ anything. _ After the vision that kickstarted this ill advised Quest, there had been nothing from the Goddess - a thick and terrible silence that almost buzzes in her ears - one that hadn’t lifted after two weeks and ten temples. 

It’s like waking up without a limb Lucina was  _ certain _ she had yesterday. Frederick was  _ wrong _ . This can’t possibly be Naga’s path for her. If it were, Lucina would have  _ some _ kind of reassurance, wouldn’t she? 

But there’s just …. nothing. 

It’s a rib or organ missing, a terrible raw ache inside of her. Not a word from Naga, and not a vision in two whole weeks. 

Lucina stands, vaguely light headed as her legs spark with pins and needles. She quietly slips a coin into the prayer box at the entrance of the temple, not stopping to ring the bell. She’d left written wishes at the other temples she’d visited, but this time she marches right past the pillar bristling with wish-notes. Out in the temple courtyard a few well-dressed temple patrons are milling about a fried noodle booth, holding takeout cups of coffee to ward against the early spring chill, and outside the gates Northfort bustles to the tune of honking cars, vast and indifferent. A visceral hatred curls in Lucina’s gut and clogs her throat. She’s never coming back to this city again. She’s going to march back home and do a charity event and that will be the end of things, tradition be damned. Besides, it’s  _ dangerous _ without her back at home. A Nagaling could attack at any moment. 

Doesn’t Ylissehold need her to defend it? 

It’s brighter than when she walked in, the sunset flaring on the horizon. Lucina stops at a street corner and pulls out her phone and squints as it boots up. 

1 missed call. 1 new voice message. 

The last voice she expects on the other end is her father’s. 

His voice is crackly with static (where is he?) but it’s instantly recognizable even after 6 months of no contact. 

“Just wanted to let you know I got in safe. Hope you’re doing okay. Ahhh, Freddy told me you were visiting some temples? That’s really cool! … Have fun. (Muffled talking in the background.) Okay, be safe. If you’re heading out to Longfort, tell Morgan I said hi. Love ya.”

The phone clicks. Asks her if she wants to save the message. She deletes it without thinking. 

Lucina squeezes her eyes shut, knuckling her forehead. What is he fucking  _ thinking? _

The last time she saw him was almost a year ago. 

She is so very, very tired. Forward might mean uncertainty and radio silence from the Goddess, but back…. 

Her chest knots up painfully. 

The light at her intersection turns green, the walk signal across the street blinking brightly. The crowd that had accumulated around her to wait for the light begins walking, and a sharp elbow in her side pushes her forward. She clutches her phone in her hands and bites her tongue. 

Forward it is then. 

It’s remarkable how easy it is to board a train and leave everything behind, Lucina muses, as she folds her hands on top of her luggage and leans against the train window and watches the border of Ylissehold slip into the distance. Gods, she is so very small. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got everything outlined ... now it's just a matter of writing the damn thing


	3. Chapter 3

The first city in Regna Ferox - well, Ferox  _ proper _ \- that Lucina stops in is a rinky-dink town an hour or two outside of Longfort. As the train shudders to a stop, she glances up from the guide in her lap and looks out into the blueish evening light. The town’s moderately famous temple is visible from the station, though it looks…. shinier than it does in the guide, all strung up with fairy lights and lanterns. 

As she disembarks and sticks her luggage in a locker, she notices several posters for the temple pasted on the station walls, each reading “Spring Equinox Festival” in the local dialect. 

_ How lucky _ , Lucina thinks sourly. There’s really nothing she likes more after a grueling train ride than wriggling her way through sweaty festival crowds. 

Just a short visit, she promises herself. Some festival food, and then it’s on to Longfort. Better call Morgan to come pick her up from the station. 

Past where the streets are cordoned off by folded paper festival ropes, the number of bodies increases exponentially. The air is thick with spices and cigarette smoke and the smell of frying food. Sweat dribbles down Lucina’s back. 

The lane past the gate into the temple proper is less crowded. Lucina squeezes her way through and jogs over to one of the tall lanterns lining the way, each topped with a small manakete figurine. She roots through her bag to find the tangle of sashes she bought back in Ylissetol and slings one around the manakete’s neck. Its glass eyes glitter at her. 

From there it’s on to the outer ring of the temple, where she washes her hands at the spring where water gurgles out of a wolf statue’s maw and pays respects at the smaller statuette of Naga. The statuette is draped in wolfskin and strings of glass beads. A little sacrilegious, but. Lucina hasn’t travelled much in this area of the Regna. Perhaps it’s just the customs of the area?

Past the spring is the outer courtyard of the temple, packed with festival goers waiting in line at brightly colored food booths, shouting and milling about in the clouds of smoke sent up by myriads of portable grills. Lucina chooses the one with the shortest line and ends up with a couple of kebabs. Her eyes water as she takes a bite. The Feroxi sure do like things spicy. 

Halfway through a bottle of chocolate milk salvaged from the vending machine to soothe her burning tongue, drums start sounding. The crowd surges toward the west side of the outer courtyard, and Lucina gets caught up in the movement. Standing on her tiptoes gets her a glance of a pavilion strung with fairy lights, ringed with drummers stripped down to the waist. 

Excitement tightens Lucina’s stomach. A purification dance, maybe? 

She shoulders her way to the front as the dancer takes the stage. He’s a slight thing, probably not much taller than she is, with burnished walnut skin and bubblegum-pink hair. Honestly, he looks more like he belongs in an art major on a liberal campus than on the stage at a temple. Lucina sips her chocolate milk, crooking an eyebrow. Hopefully he’ll be good.

The crowd hushes as the drummers yell and strike their drums. The dancer is wearing a thick white haori with sleeves that drape almost to his bare feet. He starts to move, slow and steady, perfectly in time with the ponderous pounding of the drums, hands arcing in circular movements with generous pauses. It’s a pretty standard dance, one Lucina’s seen hundreds of times, but as he flicks his hand back something tugs sharp and painful in her chest, and she can’t look away. 

He moves with easy grace, bare feet skimming the wood of the pavilion as he moves in ever-faster circles. His arms come up above his head and with a crash from the drums he sheds his haori. 

The drums quiet to a soft, steady beat as he picks up the haori and moves it off stage to pick up two clappers, carved out of sacred cedar wood to scare demons away. He’s wearing patterned leggings and the lantern light plays off the muscles in his back. Is that a tattoo on his shoulder? If there is, it’s just a shade darker than his skin. 

When he turns back around he glancingly finds Lucina’s eyes in the crowd and winks. It’s barely a second, but her whole face pricks with heat. His nipples are pierced. 

And then the drums pick back up and he’s dancing again, moving in the same circles as before but faster, wrists circling and hands flashing and there’s a sudden clack as he smacks a clapper against his thigh. 

It goes in a rhythm like that, smooth sinuous movements and the beat of the drums interspersed with the pattern of stomps and clacks as the dancer picks up movement. He looks like he’s moving two inches above the ground. It’s like wind or water or pure pulsing energy. Lucina cannot look away. 

The drums rat-tat-tat to a crescendo and the dance is over. The dancer demurely slips back into his haori and disappears in half a second, almost before the reverberations of the drums have quieted. 

The crowd disperses, conversations popping back up one by one until the place is a roar of sound again, the dancer’s trance broken without him there. Lucina is a point of stillness, gaze still caught on the pavilion, where the drummers are laughing and roughhousing as they put away their drums. Her chest still aches. It’s been a long while since she’s seen a purification dance that good. 

But she still has business here, so she tears her gaze away. Pushing past the crowd in the outer courtyard, she makes her way to the gate guarding the inner courtyard, and tosses a coin into the prayer box and bows in front of the belfry before taking off her shoes to go inside. It’s much quieter in there, the cavernous ceiling sucking up all the sound. The statue of Naga reaches up to the rafters, staff in one hand and medicine vial in the other. Unlike the statuettes outside, this one isn’t wearing wolfskins, but her neck, wrists, and ankles are wound with bangles and bracelets of glass beads. Lucina pulls a cushion from underneath one of the back pews and kneels to pay her respects. 

_ Divine and Gracious Naga. _ She breaths in deep, lets it out slow. The familiar warmth she associated with Naga’s presence doesn’t come, but she pushes on. 

_ May your light shine upon me and illuminate my path. May I strive to please you and do my duty. May I come to know your kindness and grace. Amen.  _

She doesn’t feel … so different. Not happy, but not sad either. Neutral. Calm. She takes a deep breath of incense and firelight and lets it out slow. 

As she stands she notices someone kneeling in front of the cathedral. He’s wearing a track jacket and has put some converse on but not many people have that exact shade of bubblegum pink hair. 

She watches him finish praying and stand back up, frozen - guilty for some reason without knowing why. He turns around and catches her eye and for the second time that night she flushes bright red. They stare at each other for a viscerally uncomfortable second before he puts his head down to break eye contact and starts power walking. 

Lucina shimmies past the pew and into the central walkway, blocking him off. With him here in front of her, she can confirm that he’s the barest bit taller than her, and that he’s got a cute little roll of pudge in his lower belly. He looks through his bangs at her. 

And now that she’s here, she has no idea what to say. Of course. 

“I, ah.” This silence is getting too long, Lucina,  _ say something _ . “I was very impressed with… your… the dance you did. Earlier.” 

Shit.

It’s strange to see someone’s persona change so quickly. His eyes light up and then narrow coquettishly, and one corner of his mouth picks up. Any trace of shyness is completely gone. “Oh, is that so?” He swipes his hair back and winks at her. “I saw you watching intently. Oh! I didn’t notice before, but your eyes are such a pretty color of blue. Do you wear contacts?” 

What the actual  _ hell _ . 

“Uh, no?” She tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear. 

“Wow! A natural beauty!” He sticks his hands in his back pockets and leans closer. “I’m Inigo. What’s your name, love?” 

“I’ve, uh.” Lucina gestures vaguely at the entrance to the cathedral. “I’ve gotta. Go. Somewhere. Now.” She turns smartly on her heel and hotfoots it out of the temple. 

Her face burns and by the time she’s finished pushing her way through sweaty throngs of people out onto the street she’s hot all over. 

_ This is why you don’t have any friends, _ she thinks to herself, and is suddenly awash with a wave of depression. She presses her fists to her eyes. Good  _ gods. _

Well. A quick check on her phone lets her know that it’s not too late to catch the last train to Longfort. 

At least Morgan will be happy to see her. 

Probably.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry it's been a while!! this chapter is a bit short, but the next one is all written, so that should go up soon :O

Just after dawn, the train intercom buzzes on, jolting Lucina awake. 

“Arriving at: East Slope Station. East Slope Station in: Longfort.” 

She rubs a hand over her gritty eyes, her tongue thick and muzzy in her mouth. She pops a stick of gum in her mouth as she packs up her backpack, then lays her crossed arms on the empty seat in front of her and lays her chin on them, closing her eyes to chase one last moment of rest. Her arms and head are heavy as lead. 

The sleepy surrealness of the blue and white train interior doesn’t leave her as she disembarks. The light outside is gray and the air is chilly, and the platform is mostly empty save for a few brave jacket-clad commuters. 

The first time Lucina glances at Morgan, she doesn’t recognize him. He’s taller - thinner - than she remembers, but he’s bundled in that  _ awful _ windbreaker he’s had since he was fifteen, and when she looks his way again he’s waving both arms enthusiastically. 

“Hey!” He jogs over and envelops her in a hug, windbreaker crackling. 

“Hey yourself,” she replies, and smiles. 

It’s been too long. 

She pulls back to get a good look at him. His thick dark hair is sticking every which way with bedhead and he’s got a small black stud in each ear and he’s grown out of his freckles, but his nose still crinkles when he smiles. 

“Sorry I didn’t come out to see you sooner,” Lucina says, and means it, stomach tightening with regret. Three whole years she hasn’t seen her baby brother.

Morgan shrugs. “S’okay. I knew you were busy.” He picks up her suitcase. “How’s Papa?” 

Lucina follows him through the station, running a hand through her hair before sticking it back up in a ponytail. Gods, she’s gross. Feels like she’s spent an entire week on a train. “He’s... all right. More stressed than he lets on, I think.”

Morgan sighs. “Classic Freddy.” He leads her through the parking lot and stows her suitcase in the trunk of a modest looking Bug. “How’ve  _ you _ been? On your big ol’ fancy temple crawl.” 

Lucina grimaces. 

Morgan laughs at her expression. “Not great, huh? That’s cool! Quests just kind of generally suck, imo.” He makes a face. “Something about the ‘sanctity of suffering’ or some other bullshit.” 

When Lucina doesn’t answer he glances over her way. “While you’re here you could… you know, like, take a break?  _ I _ won’t tell anyone.” 

Lucina leans against the headrest and closes her eyes. “Well.” 

“Just a  _ little _ one, Luci! You can come see our band play!” 

Lucina cracks an eye open. “You mean the Justice Cabal  _ actually  _ took off? Color me surprised.” 

“You asshole,” Morgan laughs. “Yeah, we’ve gotten pretty good! We have a show every weekend pretty regularly now. Oh!” He snaps his fingers. “That reminds me! Owain and Cynthia are home right now. Well, and Severa. And a few of Severa’s friends.” He sees Lucina grimace and hastily adds, “But they won’t bother you! I’ll make sure. You can just … take a nap in the den or something. They won’t mind!” 

Owain is a cousin, but he knows her well enough to leave her alone. Cynthia is… the daughter of an old family friend? Lucina barely remembers, and she can’t place the other names. Eh, whatever. Morgan will make enough excuses for her to beat a totally graceless social retreat. 

She pulls her feet up onto the seat and lets Morgan chatter, content to doze and answer vague mhm’s and oh’s as he tells her about his band and his apartment and the classes he’s taking this semester. She didn’t realize how much she missed this. The rumble of the car is soothing.

It’s almost midday by the time they get to Morgan’s apartment. “Well, here we are,” Morgan says cheerfully, pulling into the driveway of a little bungalow with cacti on the front porch. He leads her down to the basement and shoulders the door open. “Heya, I’m home!” 

It’s a cozy space, filled mostly by two overstuffed thrift store couches strewn with pillows and blankets, with a kitchen space off to the left. The TV is on, but turned down, and the living room is crowded with several intimidatingly cool people, with colored hair and piercings and dark clothes, lounging on the couches and floor.

Cynthia Lucina almost doesn’t recognize until she’s right up close. She’s a lot more… punk than Lucina remembers, with a patched denim jacket and the tips of her pigtails died turquoise, and a silver loop in the cartilage of one ear. She pops up from where she’s sprawled on the ground in front of the TV and comes over to give Morgan a hug. “Glad you’re not dead!” 

Then she peeks over Morgan’s shoulder and notices Lucina. 

“Oh my  _ gods _ it’s been ages!” she squeals, and sweeps Lucina into a hug. 

“Hey,” Lucina meeps. 

Cynthia is so much taller Lucina gets a faceful of her cleavage for a second before she pulls away and shuffles her into the house. Her face is burning. 

And then. Her stomach drops 50 feet at the sight of bubblegum-pink hair.

_ Okay, calm down - it could be anyone really _ , Lucina thinks, a bit hysterically. 

And then he turns around, and oh shit. It’s definitely  _ him _ . 

His eyes widen the tiniest bit when they catch hers, and then he turns a brilliant (almost alarming) shade of red and looks away. 

Morgan starts pointing at people. “Okay so here’s Severa, and Gerome, and over there in the kitchen is Kjelle, aaaand Inigo.”

“Hey,” Lucina mumbles, eyes on the foor. The last thing she wants to do is make eye contact with literally anyone. “I’m just gonna. Go put my stuff away.” 

“Hey wait!” Cynthia waves as she makes a beeline for the side hall. “Don’t you want cookies? Kjelle was making some with like, those little dried up cranberries that are super good? And nuts and shit! High end stuff!” 

Morgan makes grabby hands. “Give me your stuff, I’ll go put it in the room for you. You look like you  _ really _ need a cookie.” 

Lucina wants her various appendages to shrivel into nonexistence so she can drop dead on the spot. 

Though. 

It doesn’t look like anyone else in the living room is paying her any mind. As she watches, the girl curled up on the couch (Severa?) flicks the end of one wine-colored ponytail over her shoulder and makes a comment under her breath that sends bubblegum boy (fuck, didn’t he say his name that one time?) into paroxysms of laughter, hand covering his face as he turns pinker than his hair. 

It galls her how cute he is. It is completely absolutely 100% not fair for an asshole like him to be so damned  _ cute _ . 

She slinks into the kitchen. 

Kjelle (didn’t Morgan say that’s what her name was?) is sitting on the counter, leaning against the cabinets as she scrolls through her phone. She’s wearing bitty running shorts that lazily show off the entirety of her muscled thighs, and Lucina, before she can catch her brain, thinks for a moment about them flexing, and turns bright red. 

That moment, of course, is when Kjelle looks up from her phone. Lucina truly has the best of luck. And timing. 

Kjelle nods her head to a rack of cookies cooling by the sink. “If anyone said they’re gonna be gross, they’re fucking lying. I’m shit at cooking but I know how to bake damn good cookie.” 

“Ah.” Lucina just nods and takes one, holding it awkwardly in her hand. She wants more than anything to be in her room by herself, but that requires walking through the living room and in front of the TV, across the gazes of god and everyone. She tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear and peers out a little bit. 

“They’re fucking loud, huh?” Kjelle rolls her eyes and goes back to scrolling through her phone. “You can stay in here if you want. I won’t bother you.” 

After a few seconds of silence from Kjelle’s direction, Lucina shimmies up onto the opposite counter, the laminate cold on the bottoms of her thighs, and bites into her cookie. It really does, as Cynthia so eloquently put, have dried cranberries and nuts and shit, as well as shredded coconut and a positiviely sinful amount of chocolate chips. 

Lucina closes her eyes, breathes in and out. This is okay. This is fine. She can do this.


	5. Chapter 5

 

After that first hectic night Morgan’s apartment quiets down, with him and Owain and Cynthia out of the house most of the day for class, and Lucina spends a few luxurious days shuffling around in pajamas and napping. After what feels like an eternity sleeping in train seats the air mattress they’ve blown up for her feels almost sinful. 

There’s a small shrine a few blocks down the road from their basement apartment. It’s a local one, probably meant to lend the neighborhood good luck. Lucina leaves a few coins and a prayer, but otherwise does nothing for her Quest. It still nags at the back of her head, as insistent and irritating as an itch she can’t reach, but she’s just so  _ tired _ and… really, isn’t family an important part of Naga’s tenets? Or, that’s what she tells herself as she uses the last of Morgan’s soy sauce to make bibimbap for him and the rest. 

She’s just pulling the marinaded beef out of the fridge when the doorbell rings. Lucina freezes, heart suddenly and inexplicably pounding. There’s nobody in the house - should she just? 

She sets the bowl down quietly and decides to wait it out. The blinds are probably open, but there’s no way they’d be able to see into the kitchen, right? The doorbell rings again. Lucina bites her lip. 

“Hey!” The voice is faint, but recognizable as Inigo’s. “Lucina?” Ding ding ding ding ding. 

In a moment her shoulders unclench and she exhales hard. When she pulls open the door Inigo goes to knock, and he almost punches her in the face before realizing that the door has opened. 

“Oh! Hey!” He makes a short little awkward wave. He’s got a leather messenger bag slung over one shoulder, and he’s wearing a blue flannel over a Justice Cabal T-shirt. He sticks his hands in his pockets. She can see he’s making nervous fists, ruining his calm and casual appearance. “I, uh. Morgan said you’d need a ride. To the thing.” 

“The…. thing?” Lucina searches her head. Did he invite her to… dinner? Did they decide on a movie…? Then she looks again at Inigo’s shirt and it clicks. 

“The concert! Did you….” Inigo laughs awkwardly. “Did you forget?”

Lucina smacks her forehead. “I  _ totally  _ forgot.” She pushes her forefinger to her lips. “Don’t tell Morgan. Ah… come inside, let me get ready real quick.” 

Inigo slumps onto one of the couches as Lucina throws on a jacket and some deodorant. Old, holey jeans are par for the course at concerts, right? She beats her hair back into a ponytail and grabs her phone and twenty bucks before running back into the living room, only to find Inigo isn’t there. 

“Inigo?” She calls tentatively. 

“Yup!” he emerges from the kitchen stuffing pouches of fruit snacks into his bag. When he sees her raised eyebrow he blushes a little. “What? Can’t a grown man enjoy some fruit snacks?” 

“Sure.” The corners of her mouth pick up against her will. 

She locks up and climbs into Inigo’s old Subaru Forrester, which has a strawberry air freshener that makes everything smell vaguely smell like cough syrup, and a back seat strewn with jackets of denim and leather, and crumpled up soda cans. 

“Sorry ‘bout the mess,” he says cheerfully. “I’m the only one with a car that can fit more than, like, three and a half people, so I’m, like, a bus service or something.” 

“It’s no problem, really,” Lucina says, though she grimaces at the stains on the seats. Probably nothing but water, she reassures herself. 

Five minutes pass in awkward silence as they maneuver out of Morgan’s neighborhood. Lucina knows because she kept track of the dashboard clock, each slow blink a torturous extension of thick silence. 

“So,” Lucina says as they wait at a stoplight. Her hands fidget in her lap. “Is this like, a common thing?” 

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” A zippy white sedan pulls up from behind and cuts into their lane. “Asshole! But yeah, they’ve got a pretty good gig going? Every weekend, pretty much.” 

“Huh.” Lucina looks out at the cute college neighborhood they’re passing through, and laughs a little. “Is it terrible that I never really thought they’d get off the ground?” 

“Haaah. No, I mean they are, honestly, a bunch of super goofy kids?” They turn into Longfort’s downtown, where, as it’s just starting to grow dark, neon storefronts are beginning to flicker on. “But they’ve stuck to it. Worked really hard for it, you know? It’s not just, like. A hobby or something.” 

“Huh.” Lucina tucks a chunk of hair behind her ear. “You know if he wants to do it, like, as a job? Full time?” She knows Morgan is smart enough to be like. A neurosurgeon. Or rocket scientist. Like Mom. Though, Lucina remembers, Mom never did make a fuss about what either of her children wanted to do - when Morgan said he wanted to be a ninja when he grew up, she immediately enrolled him in a community karate class. The memory is a little bittersweet. Of course Morgan doesn’t carry the weight of Chrom’s legacy. It comes with the hair color, Lucina supposes sourly. 

Inigo shrugs, pulling her out of her reverie. They pull in front of a skinny brick-front building sandwiched between a bakery and dojo, and Inigo parks the car. “Who knows with that kid. He’s always going a million directions at once.”

Lucina huffs out a short laugh. “That’s for sure.” 

The inside is surprisingly cozy looking, strung up with fairy lights and strewn with mismatched couches and loveseats, a raised platform tucked off in the corner. Through the crowd Lucina catches a glimpse of Cynthia helping Owain set up his drum set, and Morgan directing Gerome and Kjelle in placing amps and speakers. Severa lounges at a nearby table, drink in hand.

“Heeeeeyyyyy-o!” Inigo waves his arms, and Morgan enthusiastically does the same, yelling back. 

He trots up to them, grinning ear to ear. “What the heck is up!” He punches Inigo on the shoulder and pulls Lucina into a hug. “I’m so glad you came!” He looks as happy as she’s ever seen him, face flushed and dark eyes almost beaming. 

“C’mon, c’mon, come help set up.” He grabs both of their hands and pulls them over to the stage, where somehow in the three seconds they weren’t looking Cynthia has wrangled Owain into a headlock and is yelling “Dark Sakura Cyclone! Dark Sakura Cyclone!” while he pleads for mercy through breathless laughter. 

“Foul Demoness! Your reign of terror ends now!” Morgan screeches, letting go of Inigo and Lucina’s hands, and barrels toward Cynthia and Owain. “Flamingooooooooo Punch!” He ruffles Cynthia’s pigtails until she screeches and lets go of Owain, but retaliates by hoisting him over her shoulder and retreating behind the drumset. 

Someone snaps their fingers by Lucina’s ear, and she startles and turns toward the sound. “Over here, babycakes.” Kjelle, looking more intimidating than usual with a set of black opal snakebites, jerks her head over to where Gerome is steadily tangling himself in aux cords. “You too, twinkletoes.” 

Inigo, still red-faced and wheezing with faint laughter, follows her and Kjelle up to the stage. “Need some help, batman?” 

Gerome very carefully pulls a knot out of one cord and plugs it into an amp. “I’m perfectly fine, thanks.” 

“Go help Cynthia put Owain in a headlock or something.” Kjelle shoos him away. “Inigo, could you - shit, Gerome! Lucina, come unplug all of this, fuck.” She ruffles Gerome’s died pink hair roughly. “The plugs are color coded even!” 

Gerome rolls his eyes, but flushes slightly. Inigo and Lucina help Kjelle push speakers around and untangle cords as the crowd steadily grows. It’s maybe eight or nine when the preparations are finished. 

Lucina hops off the stage. A mean looking bruiser with hair dyed in pastels takes the microphone from Cynthia while Morgan tunes his guitar and Owain finishes setting up the midi keyboard. 

“Hey! Could everyone shut up for a hot second!” 

Laughter sweeps through the crowd, but it quiets a bit as people turn to look at the stage. The bruiser runs a hand through his multicolored hair. “Kay, thanks. Mixed drinks are 25% off for the rest of the night, uhh, and the Justice Cabal’s playin’. Be a good crowd, don’t trash my bar, so on and so forth.” He nods to Cynthia and hands her the microphone, then quickly hops of the stage. 

“Not one for conversation, Brady.” Inigo’s voice is close to Lucina’s ear, and she startles a little bit. 

“A real charmer, I can tell,” she answers wryly. 

He laughs at that. The lights dim, colored spotlights highlighting Cynthia at the keyboard, and then the music starts. It’s upbeat, as Lucina would expect from three such peppy people, with a funky pop undertone. Cynthia’s voice is amazing, switching from heady in the verses to high-pitched and high energy for the choruses, Owain yelling along in the background. Morgan leans into the microphone to ad lib harmonize, which he does surprisingly well. Lucina is impressed. She never knew Morgan had such an ear for music. It’s a little…. A little sad, a little guilt-inducing, that she never knew about this part of his life before. 

“That’s it! That my girlfriend!” Before she can spiral too deep in retrospection, Severa materializes from the crowd, sloshing around a glass of something bright blue. Her face is a little flushed, and she grabs onto Lucina’s elbow. “You go, baby!” she yells, and blows a kiss. Cynthia catches it, beaming. 

Oh, that’s cute, Lucina thinks, and grins. 

“Hey!” Severa downs the rest of her drink, leaning over to stick the glass on a nearby table, and plants a hand on Lucina’s shoulder, squinting in the neon light. “YOU, my darling, are a total square.” 

Lucina laughs helplessly. “Well, I mean, yeah?” The atmosphere is a little heady, maybe too much so, and she’s a little lightheaded. Excitement, anxiety, and empty stomach. Anticipation for - she doesn’t know quite yet but. 

“UGH!” Severa moves her hand from Lucina’s shoulder to her hip. “Honestly! You’ve been here for like, what? A week? A WHOLE week and you haven’t done ANYTHING fun.” She shimmies her hips a little, pulling Lucina along to follow the movement. “S’fucking depressing! Have a little  _ consideration _ for everyone around you, Miss Stick-in-the-mud!” 

Lucina’s eyebrows raise, and she looks at Inigo. 

He shrugs, blushing a little. “I mean, she’s not wrong?” 

“My knight in shining armor,” Lucina sighs, and Inigo bursts out laughing. 

“Okay okay okay, c’mon.” He wiggles his hips a little. “Just dance a little! Like.” He flicks his hair back and all of a sudden does the running man, the  _ meme _ dance. Lucina’s stomach spasms as, before she can stop herself, she bursts into laughter. 

“Oh my gods,” she wheezes. He rolls his shoulders and flicks his hair and gets so  _ into _ it, shooting these exaggerated glances from underneath his bangs, and every time he waggles his eyebrows at her she bursts back into laughter, so hard her sides begin to ache. 

“Inigo you meme loving  _ fuck _ ,” Severa laughs, and squeezes Lucina’s hip. 

Inigo laughs, waving his hand in front of his suddenly blushing face. “Okay, Lucina, now that I have thoroughly embarrassed myself, you HAVE to dance!” 

Severa is throwing her head back and forth, Inigo keeps shimmying ridiculously at her, and even Gerome is sort of awkwardly bobbing his head to the beat. 

“Okay, okay,” she laughs, feeling something like light in her chest, beaming out through her smile. “If you  _ insist.” _

Up on the stage the spotlight on Cynthia dims and she taps a few things into the midi board before stepping away from it, holding up her hands. She waggles her fingers and the palms light up bright blue. The crowd cheers and Severa wolf whistles. Lucina gasps. 

Cynthia begins dancing as Morgan takes over the vocals, hands flashing. The crowd screams and Lucina joins in, throwing her hands in the air. That must be her Gift, Lucina realizes. So suited for starting a band! It’s dazzling, watching the lights flick in and out as she moves her hands in graceful arcs. 

Severa grabs Lucina’s hand and spins her around, and then she’s swaying her hips in time with the music, hands in the air alongside Inigo and Severa, and happiness fills her all the way out to her fingertips, almost as if she were lighting up from the inside out, just like Cynthia. 

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS A ROMANCE I PROMISE
> 
> come say hi on tumblr! i'm at sweatersenpai <3


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